


Unbinded

by kageillusionz



Series: The Stockpile [5]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Love Confessions, Love at First Sight, M/M, Regency, Regency Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-08 00:15:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kageillusionz/pseuds/kageillusionz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik Lehnsherr has been in love with his ward's tutor - ex-tutor now - for quite some time. He thinks it is unrequited and doesn't plan on telling Charles, content to have him by his side, until consequences force them apart and Charles returns to Westchester to be engaged to Kurt Marko's son. </p><p>Erik summons Charles one afternoon in the hopes of confessing only to bail out at the last minute. He is surprised when Charles has a choice few things to say to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unbinded

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ikeracity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikeracity/gifts).



> Original post found [here](http://kageillusionz.tumblr.com/post/47533984779/happy-mcfassy-tuesday-030). Rumcity kindly provided a title and beta'd this for me. Any lingering mistakes are my own. Please feel free to let me know!
> 
> Unbinded was written as part of my weekly Happy McFassy Tuesday tumblr post and as a surprise for ikeracity as an incentive to study. Here you go darling!

“Mr Xavier has arrived, sir,” Azazel announces. The statement is accompanied by the sound of hesitant steps walking into his study, muffled by the soft rug underfoot. They draw to a stop inches from his desk. The door closes with a click and Erik exhales a plume of smoke, before setting aside both tobacco and accounts to greet the man standing in front of him.

“Mr Xavier. I hope your travel to Thornfield was pleasant?”

Mr Xavier - Charles as he had once called him in private - takes a long minute to reply, his fingers twitching to play with the brim of his top hat. A nervous habit. During this time, Erik appraises.

There are dark shadows underneath his eyes, dull and devoid of the mischievous spark that Erik had fallen in love with during Charles’ employ as his ward’s - Anya’s - tutor. His lips are also whiter and his bottom lip appears to be dry and cracked. Undoubtedly as a result from all the biting and worrying Charles had done on it. It contrasts so vastly from the full red ones Erik had come to enjoy once upon a time. He wonders if Charles has lost weight, from the stress of managing his new household or because of another reason completely, but it is all speculation, hidden away behind layers.

Yet outwardly, Charles is dressed impeccably. The cravat at Mr Xavier’s neck is expertly tied and knotted without a ruffle out of place. It is to Erik’s extreme displeasure that the soft fabric hides a pale kissable and biteable throat. Erik’s hands clench at his knee to contain his primal urges to mark that smooth expanse of skin. It is difficult to ignore the pressing need to tug that strip of cloth away and lay claim to Charles as his.

And then there is the familiar dark forest green overcoat that hangs from Charles’ form. It is plush and of velvet make, although perhaps it has seen better days for it is a little ragged around the hems and ink-stained at the sleeves. But looks exquisite on Charles and even better crumpled on his bedroom floor.

Appearances mattered after all, especially in the social circles that the Xavier family runs in. Far too much in Erik’s opinion. It is a lesson taught by all governesses to their young charges, to hide all emotions underneath an agreeable mask of blank pleasantness.

“I- Yes. Thank you, Mr. Lehnsherr. The coach you sent was most comfortable and Thornfield is lovely. It always is this time of year.” The tone Charles uses is wistful and Erik cannot help but to frown. If only Charles had chosen to stay here at Thornfield.

“And I hope you have been well, Mr Lehnsherr?”

“Yes.” Erik’s quick and gruff response indicates otherwise, but Charles politely nods his head and accepts the words for what they are. Charles never did call him out on his lies. “And how are you readjusting to life at Westchester? I imagine Mrs Xavier is thrilled.”

“Well,” Charles answers with a smile that does not reach his eyes. “Perfectly well. Mother is mother. It may be easier to teach Anya the beginnings of electrical theory than to find my mother in an agreeable.” That much Erik knows to be true and he does not contest the validity of that statement. Not when Charles is visibly trying to convince himself.

Erik stands, stretching out his legs and heads for the decanter in the corner half-filled with scotch. It is an excuse to put some distance between them, quashing the urge to gather Charles into his arms and plead for him to stay. He pours two generous fingers each and silently sets a glass down in front of Charles, then resumes his seat.

An awkward silence develops, broken intermittently by the lazy scratch of pen against parchment when Erik returns briefly to his accounts. It is poor manners, especially having been the one to invite Charles to Thornfield, but Charles has slipped deep into thought, adopting a distracted demeanour as he stares out into the gardens below.

The sound of Anya’s bright bubbly laughter and the gardeners pausing long enough in their work to greet her cheerfully floats on the breeze through his open window. She must have convinced her new tutor to spend the afternoon outside, much like what she had done once on Charles. Erik had often found the pair spending the afternoon in the old apple orchard, caked in mud and completely at ease with one another, bathed in sunlight and looking like a pair of angels. He missed those days.

Charles downs the contents of his scotch, throat working in a way that causes his cravat to bobble with each swallow. It sends liquid courage straight down to Charles’ stomach. The move entices Erik to lean forward, an almost suggestive smile on his face. “I am emboldened to ask as to why you have summoned me. As I am no longer in your employ ever since the Markos claimed Westchester…”

Ahh yes, the Markos. How could Erik ever forget the name of the men that had robbed him of Charles’ company and the chance of claiming his hand in holy matrimony. Erik leans back and the smile slides off his face, something closer to contempt.

The house hasn’t been the same ever since Charles backed his belongings and left. The only people that didn’t shy away from his company was a very short list consisting of only Anya, Azazel and Logan, his horsemaster. The former had been oblivious to the cause of Erik’s sudden chilly demeanour. But Logan always gives him a knowing glance whenever Erik swings himself up into the saddle and rides into town.

“And how is-” Raven. Charles’ mother. The latest controversial science journal. Anything. Erik wishes he could fill in the rest of his question with something more substantial. The courage gained from his mouthful of scotch leading up to his supposed love confession has deserted him now and he stares down at his full glass, lost as to what to say.

The sunlight sneaking past the curtains from the window transforms Charles’ normally sky blue eyes to an ephemeral shade of grey. He is glad to observe that Charles also encountered a similar problem. From the way Charles avoids looking him in the eyes down to nervous finger tapping on the scotch glass.

And before Erik can finish his question, Charles fingers still and he takes an audible intake of breath as if to steady himself. As if Charles is absorbing all the courage that had leaked out of Erik moments early into himself. And in Erik’s ideal world, to say all the things that he had meant to speak of: love, marriage, elopement, living at Thornfield with him till death parts them.

“Mr. Lehnsherr, I used to think that our affections for one another transcended that of acquaintances. Perhaps, it is fanciful thinking that you could return my affections and it hardly seems prudent at all to mention this when I am engaged to another. But I know I will regret if I never told you of the brevity of my affections for you, sir. If I cannot say it now, then when?

“I have loved you since the first time you rode into Westchester and I answered the door, late in the night as it were. You were soaking wet from rain turned torrential and asking for shelter for the evening. I remembered your exact countenance at that moment, akin to that of a cat being bathed. But you were ever so polite. Do you remember that night as well as I do? I have replayed that moment so often that every moment is crystal clear in clarity, from the droplets of rain sloughing off your shoulders down to the specks of mud caked on your boots,” Charles says, earnest and full of longing.

“I don’t think I can stop being in love with you. I don’t think I would want to.”

Erik is stunned by the earnest expression on Charles’ face, even more so by Charles’ words; a part of his mind admires and applauds Charles for being blunt.

His throat seizes uncomfortably, contracting around the words clawing to get out and rendering him unable to provide a proper reply. There is an ocean worth of responses, but each droplet unable to capture Erik’s exact intent.

“Is love not a concept that can overcome anything and everything? A notion that Shakepeare himself explores time and time again. Is it not something that Austen and Bronte and Gaskell have written? I know my name carries with it stigma, how could I not thanks to the betrayal of my eldest sister, but you have shown to care not a whit for it, of what society thinks and just- Please, I need to know. Just love me. Do you love me?”

Erik repeats the question incredulously to himself. Like there could ever be any doubt of his predilection for one Mr. Charles Xavier. His laughter. His kind-hearted soul. Everyone in town had loved the youth until it became popular to shun the Xavier family. What could he say? Charles deserves to know the truth, complete and unchanged, and to know his sentiments were reciprocated.

“Yes. I thought I was too late with your engagement and- You are mine, Charles Xavier.”

Charles’ face brightens all at once, tension bleeding out of his shoulders. And finally, Erik sees a smile graces Charles’ face. An expression that belongs whole-heartedly.

Charles moves to stand in between Erik’s parted knees, prompting Erik to tilt his head back to maintain eye contact. Charles’ hands brush tenderly, lightly, over the skin found between his hairline and his jaw and Erik breathes out through his nose as his eyes close involuntarily. How often had he dreamt of this moment? Of being touched by this man who wears his heart on his sleeve and wanting nothing more than to wrap his arms possessively around Charles’ body and bury himself until they were one?

They are two halves of a whole.

“Entirely and unequivocally yours. Just as you are mine, Erik. Take me to bed, mark me and make me unquestionably yours.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Connexions](https://archiveofourown.org/works/818404) by [keire_ke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keire_ke/pseuds/keire_ke)




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